


Journal- April

by regalfrnk



Series: Journals [1]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Diary, Journal, M/M, based on me, self insert ig?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-15 04:01:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18490924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regalfrnk/pseuds/regalfrnk
Summary: My therapist said I needed to journal, I wanted to write fanfiction. This was our compromise.





	1. April, Week 2

**Author's Note:**

> I sincerely don't expect anyone to read this, but if you do and you enjoy it, awesome!  
> Like I said in the description, I hate journaling and writing down my feelings but somehow through Frank's eyes, through Frank living my odd little life, it's more tolerable. So this is kind of fanfiction and kind of my journal.

Frank gained consciousness at 3:23 AM. No fluttering eyelashes, no drowsy roll to the clock to see how long he had left to sleep. Brain was off, and then it was on like a lightswitch. In one of his ears, the title screen music from Mean Girls looped endlessly. His small DVD player sat six inches from his head but faced his feet. He vaguely remembered trying to power it off using the volume switch (unsuccessfully) right before losing consciousness. Outside the slit blinds, lightning cracked and balls of ice tapped the pane timidly as if they were asking to come inside. A winter storm in April.

  
_“Yeah yeah… I’m California.”_ He sat up halfway and craned his neck, left then right, leaving him unsatisfied when there were no cracks and with a minor headache on top of the major one forming behind his ears and spreading across his skull. The events of the previous night crept slowly into his mind.

  
_I know I don’t tell you that I care enough…_ Frank pressing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets until he saw reflections of the stars stuck to his ceiling. There was no other light source but these. That nasty type of cry, where tissues couldn’t handle the amount of fluid leaking from his face. Picking up a dirty T shirt from the floor, blowing his nose into it, then fumbling to the door and closing it before his dad finished his sentence. _Go please. I need to sleep._ Then failing to do so and curling up in the shower at eleven PM, laying on his back, staring at his knees as the almost-painful water rose around his head and clogged his ears. His hair dye leaked in the water around him and he hardly noticed. If only it were so easy to accidentally drown in water as it were your own mind.

  
Frank gained consciousness again at 6:20 AM, this time aided by machine made church chimes and no noise besides. The sleet-rain had ceased. He snoozed twice before standing and waddling into the bathroom, half dressed in a ‘Eat the Rich’ T shirt and purple briefs, and rinsed his sleep-matted hair in the sink. After brushing his teeth, he pulled on straight-leg black jeans and the red canvas sweater. Gee might’ve dumped- or excuse me, _“We’re better off as friends”_ ’d- his sorry ass, but he still looked at least four times cuter in that sweater than his emotion-siphoning now-ex boyfriend.

  
“‘Lo,” was all his dad said. “‘I,” was all Frank responded with. What a fucking mistake it had been, Frank thought, telling him. The last thing he needed on top of everything was his dad half pitying Frank and half celebrating that now Frank’s pervasive homosexual influence was out of the picture.

  
After rummaging the cabinets half heartedly for a few minutes, Frank closed everything back up and decided his whirlwind digestive system was better off without food. The thought of Gerard averting his eyes every time Frank came near was enough to curdle any food left in Frank’s stomach from dinner last night. He filled a thermos with ice and coffee from a Mason jar in the fridge and rode silently with his dad to school.

  
Yesterday he had been overjoyed that Gerard had been friendly in the computer lab. They had only exchanged a few sentences, but the vibe between them was civil and almost happy. Today, he had spoken a few words to Gerard in the lobby (mostly through or about Mikey, who had been darting his eyes between the two like a cornered animal for the entire interaction) and gotten three words out of him over text (“howdy”, “hm yeah” to be specific) and had been precisely ignored in the computer lab. He texted Ray then Z, in that order. Ray was good at speaking to Frank objectively, disconnected from the situation as Ray was still at the community college Frank had been forcefully removed from. He had homework to do, though, and left the conversation shortly. After Gerard left the lab without even looking at Frank, he fought back tears- Gerard didn’t look half the disaster Frank did, wearing a white button down and those stupid fucking jungle pants and worst of all, a smile. Of course Frank wanted him to be happy. He just wanted to be happy with Gerard. Frank left the lab shortly after Gerard and dragged his sorry ass up to Z’s ceramics class.

  
Helena sat with Z at her regular table, one earbud in, chatting away to Z who was creating some very odd piece of work that resembled a colander, or at least that’s what Frank told her. Even if Frank hadn’t said anything, Z would have known something was up. It was like she could smell it on him. She spent the hour giving Frank little bits of clay to play with and threatening to spray him with the water bottle every time he made a suicide joke. Helena had him down pat; every time he would bounce a little while talking about his favorite band or especially when he mentioned playing with shaving cream, she’d mutter “baby boy culture” and he’d turn pink while Z giggled.

  
He would have neglected lunch, too, had it not been grilled cheese and tomato soup. Frank and Z sat one table away from Bob and Nick, mostly because Nick ate absurd, inhuman amounts of ketchup and was an uncomfortable person to be around in general, and Ethan said many things that made Z uncomfortable. But when Mikey joined Bob and Nick, Frank made the mistake of making eye contact and all three of them came to their table.

  
“You know,” Frank started to Mikey, one eye on Nick, who was absolutely massacring tater tots with ketchup, “I never understood Adam’s Song, by blink 182. Until today.” Frank watched as Mikey recognized that the song was literally about the suicide of a lonely kid. This would be worrying to probably anyone else, but Mikey was a little dense and sort of ignorant, in a good way. _I couldn't wait 'til I got home/To pass the time in my room alone_ had been ringing in Frank’s head all day. It’s comforting to know that someone finally put into words how you feel, but it sure as hell wasn’t helping.  
“I still don’t get that song,” Mikey said distantly.

  
They were tolerable, for today. Z suggested they leave after eating, and they ended up bingeing relatively new YouTube videos in a band cubicle. When they left for choir, Frank was in a significantly better mood.  
Choir was uneventful, and Frank was reminded to see the school’s new play! Which he had helped out with for two months then became too depressed to do much of anything. The opening night had been cancelled due to the storm, which really sucked. Frank quickly texted his parents to ask permission in the middle of the Ngapo Wehi piece which was basically Balleilakka, part II. Choir jokes.

  
He waited for Z after school while she ran through the final dress rehearsal, updating his MySpace and replying to chats. She told him Patrick would take them home afterwards; what he didn’t know was that Patrick was also taking three sophomores, Z, and him home in a five seater car. Frank crammed his small frame in the trunk, which he probably would have done regardless of if there was a seat for him or not. Patrick spent the ride making more single jokes than actually driving, about how much he needed a top- Frank considered yet again, as he’d been since they met in sixth grade, that he could date Patrick. But Patrick probably wanted a guy with the right equipment, per se.

  
Frank clambered out of the trunk on 12th rather than on 11th street- he didn’t need questions from his family- and shouted a thank you to Patrick. When he got inside the house, Sweetpea danced around his feet eagerly. His mom was vacuuming, which could only mean they had company over, and that meant they would be down one dog- Frank’s grandparents runt of a Shih tzu, Miriah.

  
They got through about twenty minutes of RV with Robin Williams before the grandparents showed up. Frank set down half of a slice of mushroom and spinach pizza- an odd choice from his dad, but vegetarian at least- and paused the movie right as some hick that looked oddly like Mikey poured water down a latrine. Well, that was only going to end in disaster. Laugh track.

  
After accepting hugs and a bag of saltwater taffy- how very Michiganian of them- Frank convinced his dad to let him duck out to go to the play like twenty minutes early. He called Lexie and Jack each twice after buying his ticket, standing by the door with Z’s younger sister who was passing out red programs. Jack arrived after three rings- Frank sprinted to him and gave him a big hug, then they both had this really dorky conversation on the phone, standing three feet away from each other. When Lexie and Mountain Man (Dew?) Boyfriend Tyler arrived, Frank was so happy he was practically vibrating. He felt like he could phase through the chair and watch the play as a head stuck in the floor. It was scaring him a little bit.

  
Frank didn’t pay attention to much other than this warm feeling in his core. It lasted until his head hit the pillow.


	2. April, Week 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's okay to cry around me," Frank responded. "If you want to just cry together, that's okay." He regretted sending that one. It sounded stupid. "Okay," Gerard pinged back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first time inserting images to text, so if it fucks up on mobile or something please let me know and I'll try to fix it.

_You were the one that made things not the way they were, so maybe talk to yourself about that,_ Frank thought but dared not type back.

_Then hold me, motherfucker, and don’t let go._

Of course, he couldn’t say any of this.

_This’ll take the heart right out of me_

_I just wanna hold you close to me…_

The band room? After school. It was a date. All Frank did was agree, regardless of if it was good for him. He wished for once he was the one calling the shots. Gerard definitely held the principle of least interest, which meant he held the power. Sociology, MF'ers. 

He spent choir alternating between states of ready-to-face-this and ready-to-puke. It was horrid; he would become anxious, which would make him sweat, and then he’d become uncomfortable with how sweaty he was, which made him more anxious, which made him sweat more. Z tried to calm him down and ended up just grabbing the back of his hoodie and fanning him out rapidly while he tried to catch a breath.

Rain fell gently outside as they sang Famine Song. They all pretended as if they had summoned it.

Frank was only waiting a few minutes. Gerard crept in silently and closed the door, then sat in a chair literally as far away from Frank as possible in the five-by-six cubicle. His face looked different, and he wore no makeup. He almost looked wider, somehow. They sat in silence, Gerard toying with his earbuds, until Gerard started to cry softly. Frank moved to a stool closer to him and took Gerard’s hand gently.

“We don’t have to do this,” he said calmly. Gerard wiped at his eyes.

“If we don’t, then where do we start?” All Frank needed to do was think of how Gerard used to tug at his shirt to get Frank close to him while he cried, and then Frank was crying. He didn’t remember how they started talking, exactly.

“I just hate having to work at someone wanting to be around me,” Frank choked. Nothing could make him feel as strongly as this boy in bright yellow pants, for better or for worse. He could not hear his own voice crack: it made him feel dysphoric and pitiful.

“Stop asking me what I want! I don’t know.” “You seemed pretty sure what you wanted when you dumped me. Twice.” “I had to do something! I’ve never done this before!”

And on and on and on and on.

“Same time tomorrow?” Gerard said, paused at the door, as if it were a fucking study session. Frank was in the corner, pretending to be on his phone, already crying.

“Yeah,” he squeaked.

What else could he say?


	3. April, Week 4: a nudge, push and a shove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. People-Never-Changed had been kicked in the ass in the worst way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really bearing my fuckin' heart here, these are direct quotes from our conversation.

After the incredibly brief meeting in the practice room, Frank had nudged Gerard on Monday (you know, because Gerard had said that he would talk to Frank on Monday).

The response came so fast, Gerard had to have had it ready.

For the first time in months, Frank said exactly what was on his mind.

And Gerard said exactly what was on his… he didn’t want to pity Frank… things changed…

Frank was usually upset at this point, but now he was more angry, or possibly just numb.

Mr. People-Never-Changed had been kicked in the ass in the worst way.


End file.
